


The Hero of Her Story

by LadyReisling



Category: Baby-Sitters Club - Ann M. Martin
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Gift Giving, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, Writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 20:52:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8342284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyReisling/pseuds/LadyReisling
Summary: High school has come and gone. Mallory is sure she's not good enough to get in to a prestigious college writing program, and thinks she'll never be published. Stacey has other ideas.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rina (rinadoll)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinadoll/gifts).



The old-fashioned bells over the door of the Daily Grind gave a merry jingle as Mallory stepped inside the coffee shop. Outside, the blue sky and bright sunshine belied an unseasonably chilly day, and the warmth of the shop was a welcome relief from air that promised an early winter was coming to Stoneybrook. The Daily Grind was the newest and hippest addition to Stoneybrook’s up-and-coming downtown district, having moved into the storefront once occupied by Polly’s Fine Candy when Polly passed away. Mal would never forget walking by the store windows of her childhood, filled with decadent sweets and luscious holiday displays, but the Daily Grind was a good replacement. 

It was especially good since there was never a moment’s silence at the Pike house. True, everyone was older now--the triplets were in their senior year of high school and even Claire was in middle school, so the fights had died down, but silence was still golden. Between her classes at Stoneybrook Junior College and her two part-time jobs at the campus library and the writing center, Mallory was barely home now, but home was still a little too chaotic for hard studying and writing, and keeping her grades up now was the only way to get a scholarship later. Mal knew her parents would have done their best to help her go away to college, but somehow there was an ingrained sense of obligation to being the oldest of eight kids. It was cheaper to live at home, take some classes at SJC, and keep an eye out for scholarships in good writing programs later. Sarah Lawrence had a great fellowship program for upperclass transfer students that Mal would kill for. There were still days when she wished she had been able to follow Jessi straight to New York City after high school, but all in all, staying around Stoneybrook had a few perks--like Wednesday afternoons with Stacey at the Daily Grind.

Earlier in the day, the power had gone out on campus, so Mal found herself facing an unexpected afternoon off, with both her afternoon class and her early-evening shift at the writing center cancelled. Stacey would be along in a couple hours for their four o’clock weekly date, but for now, Mal had her journal, a book, her laptop, and three hours to kill. Best of all, this early in the afternoon, she was able to snag the coveted table by the fireplace in the corner. She doffed her coat and threw it over the back of the chair to save their spot, then went up to the counter for her usual--chai tea with extra honey and a vanilla-almond scone--before settling down at the table. Settling in with her drink, she pulled out her laptop, intending to get some writing done while she waited for Stacey. 

First, though, she pulled up her email, heart pounding as she saw not one, but three emails, two from the publishers she’d sent her latest manuscript to last week and one from a prospective agent. 

_Dear Ms. Pike:_  
_Thank you for your recent submission. Regretfully, we are unable to accept unsolicited materials at this time and cannot consider your story for publication. Best of luck in your future writing endeavors._  
_Sincerely,_  
_D. Carson_  
_Atlantic Coast Publishing_

_Dear Ms. Pike:_  
_Thank you for your recent submission. Unfortunately, The Adventures of Walter and Wilma in New York City does not meet the current market standards for publication and we are unable to represent you at this time. Best of luck in your future writing endeavours._  
_Yours Truly,_  
_Emma Bunting_  
_Bunting Literary Agency, LLC_

_Dear Ms. Pike:_  
_We regret to inform you that your recent submission does not meet our standards for publication. Thank you for your interest in NewVoices Publications, and please keep writing._  
_Henry O’Malley_  
_NewVoices Publications Ltd._

It was strange, she thought. No matter how many publishers and agencies she sent her work to, the rejection letters always sounded the same. Rejections were nothing new, but three in five minutes was a new low. Mallory closed her eyes against the sting of tears. Maybe that art instructor all those years ago had been right and she’d never be a famous artist, but writing was her calling--she was sure of it. All she needed was one agent or publisher to give her a chance, but none seemed to be willing to give it. 

_Someday, someone will_ , Mal told herself. She dashed away one solitary tear from her cheek, closed the laptop, took a sip of chai, and pulled out the Seamus Heaney book her English class was currently reading. She made occasional notes in the margins, but then just lost herself in the words until a shadow fell over her page. She glanced up to find Stacey standing over her, blue eyes sparkling, honey-blonde hair shining in the last rays of afternoon sunlight. As always, she was the picture of sophistication in a claret-colored short dress with gray tights and black boots. Vintage pewter and pearl earrings hung from her ears, picking up the pewter accents on the boots, and her cheeks were flushed from the chilly wind outside. 

“Hey, Mal.” Stacey pulled out the chair across from her and set her bag down. “Looks like you’ve been here awhile.”

“Hi Stace. Is it four already? Class was cancelled and the writing center closed early because of the power outage, so I decided to get some work done here instead.”

“You should have texted me.”

“It really isn’t a big deal. How was your day?”

Stacey shrugged. “The usual. But I have a surprise for you as soon as I grab a coffee. Do you want another chai?” Before Mallory had a chance to respond, Stacey was at the counter, then back, plunking another bathtub-sized mug of steaming, spicy tea down on the table in front of her. “Drink up--you look like you could use it. Everything okay?”

“Thanks. I’m fine, really, I just...it’s nothing. I got another rejection today. Three, actually.” Mal paused to take a sip of tea, hand trembling slightly as she set the cup back down. Before she could move it to her lap to hide the shaking, Stacey had reached across the table and squeezed it lightly.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. But you’ll get there in the end. I brought you a present, too.” She reached into her bag and fished out a flyer bearing the logo of the Stoneybrook Free Public Library. “Take a look at this--the library is having Writer’s Night next Friday. There’s going to be a reading, and an agent is taking appointments to offer critiques. You should sign up.”

“Do you really think that’s a good idea? I mean, a lot of writers get rejected, but today I got rejected three times in less than ten minutes.” 

“Of course it’s a good idea!”

“I’m not sure, Stace. I’ve been to writers’ groups before and they’re merciless. It’s terrible.” But the words belied the feeling that was beginning to grow in Mal’s heart. Maybe it was the smile on Stacey’s face, or the way her eyes sparkled, but rejections or not, the flyer in Mallory’s hand felt like it was positively alive with possibilities. 

“What do you have to lose? If you make an appointment, you get thirty minutes with a real agent as your captive audience. I’m sure you’ll be able to sell one of your stories, and even if you don’t, it’ll be good experience, right? Advice to put you closer to the Sarah Lawrence fellowship? I’ll go with you if you want and we can get dinner after.” She slid her phone across the table. “C’mon, Mal. Make the call.”

Fingertips tingling, Mallory picked up the phone, swiped the screen to life, and dialed.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the course of the next week, Mal swung wildly between excitement and crippling anxiety. Instead of the usual Wednesday afternoon coffee date, they drove downtown to Bellair’s, where Stacey helped her pick out a new outfit for the occasion. After some deliberation, they settled on a knee-length black dress with a tiny white flower print, which Stacey paired with a soft purple cardigan, black leggings, and low-heeled booties. Comfortable enough for class, but professional enough to show she meant business. Friday night, Mal nervously touched up her makeup, packed three stories and a small portfolio of drawings into her messenger bag, and set out for the library. 

“You look fab!” Stacey greeted her outside the library. “Ready for your big night?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

The library had closed for business, but a small crowd of people milled around inside, most toting portfolios or manuscripts. A small buffet of cheese cubes, fruit, and tiny petit fours had been set up, along with silver urns of coffee and bottles of sparkling grape juice.

“Wow,” Stacey said, helping herself to a plate and a few grapes. “They sure do know how to show off. You’d think James Patterson was here or something. Look, there’s Claudia’s mom--let’s go say hi.” She grabbed Mallory by the hand and half-dragged her across the room. Mal had to wonder if Stacey was deliberately trying to quell her nerves.

“Mallory, Stacey, how nice to see you.”

“It’s nice to see you, too, Mrs. Kishi,” Mallory replied. “How is Claudia doing?”

“Oh, Claudia loves it at RISD. She emailed me that she’s working on a mural up there. We’re very proud. She’ll be home for Christmas; I hope you girls will find time to stop by.” 

“Thanks, Mrs. Kishi. Please tell her we’ll do that.”

“I was glad to see that you signed up for a consultation, Mallory. Victoria Simmons is with us tonight from a publisher that specializes in children’s picture books. I set you up with her. She’s waiting for you in the study room. Shall I show you the way?”

“No, thank you. I can find it.” Mal’s heart was pounding so hard, she was sure the whole room could hear it. 

Stacey gestured to the nearby couch by the fireplace. “I’ll wait there for you, Mal. Good luck!”

Outside the door of the study room, Mal took five seconds to steel herself before entering. Victoria Simmons seemed like the personification of intimidation: forbidding black suit, horn-rimmed glasses, stern expression. Mal couldn’t see her feet under the table, but they were probably encased in weaponized stilettos custom-designed by Prada. 

“Mallory Pike? I’m Victoria Simmons. What do you have to show me?”

“A pleasure to meet you, Ma’am. I have several stories and illustrations.” Mallory laid her portfolio on the table, and the woman studied it with furrowed brows. 

“You’re clearly a talented writer, Ms. Pike, but unfortunately I’m afraid animal stories aren’t in demand just now. The market changes every few years, of course, but you’ll have a hard time finding a publisher in the near future. Of course, you are very young…” she trailed off, scrutinizing Mallory over the top of her horn-rims. 

Mallory felt her face burning and willed herself not to cry. “What do you suggest, Ma’am?” Her voice did not shake. 

“Are you planning to study in a college writing program?”

“I hope so.”

“You’d be better suited to essays, I think. Perhaps when you’re older and have a bit of experience, a few classes in constructing stories for children… Of course, some people do self-publish these days, but it’s rarely profitable.”

“Thank you for your honest opinion, Ma’am.”

“You’re welcome, Ms. Pike, and I do wish you the best in your future writing projects.”

Mal barely remembered leaving the room. Stacey took one look, jumped off the couch, and guided her outside with a protective arm around her shoulders. “That bad, huh?”

“The worst, Stace. I’m never going to get published. I’m never going to get the fellowship at Sarah Lawrence. And she kept going on about how young I am. It was awful!” Tears spilled down her cheeks, boiling hot in contrast to the chilly night air, to splash onto the front of her new cardigan.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. This was my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed you into doing something you were uncomfortable with. Do you want me to take you home?”

“Can I come to your place instead? It’s so...crowded...at home.”

“Sure. Why don’t you just text your parents that you’re staying over?”

Tucked safely in the passenger’s seat of Stacey’s car, Mal did as she was told. Mrs. McGill was out of town on a buying trip for work, so there was no one to question them when they arrived at Stacey’s house and curled up together on the couch, with Stacey murmuring reassurances as Mallory’s tears soaked into her shoulder. The rest of the night passed in a blur, until Mallory drifted off to sleep, snuggled next to Stacey in her bed, head resting on Stacey’s shoulder with Stacey’s hand tangled in her hair. If rejection had to hurt, then at least she could have this.


	3. Chapter 3

“I’ve been thinking, Mal,” Stacey stated without preamble the following Wednesday at the Daily Grind. Today it was her turn to be early, already staring at her laptop screen when Mal arrived and pulled out the chair across from her. 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” They hadn’t really spoken since a quick Saturday brunch after their Friday night together, and Mallory wasn’t sure what to make of what had happened between them. She’d been admiring Stacey from afar since she’d first joined the BSC, but somehow the blonde had always seemed distant, both in terms of sophistication and emotion. They’d gotten a little closer when both Jessi and Claudia had gone away to school, and now, Mal definitely looked forward to their weekly dates. It probably wasn’t smart to think of her in terms other than friendship, though. But she had to admit that Friday night, for all its pain, had been wonderful. 

“Look, I said I was sorry for making you do that. If I had known it would be that bad...I didn’t want to do anything to hurt you.”

“I know, Stace, but it DID hurt. Not your fault, though.”

“Then hear me out, please. I think you need to self-publish your stories.” 

“That’s crazy, Stace. It costs a fortune to self-publish. Well, more money than I have, anyway. Victoria Simmons said hardly anyone ever profits from it.”

“All due respect to Victoria Simmons, but she barely gave you the time of day. And you’re Mallory Pike. You’re hardly anyone.”

“I have two dozen rejection emails in my trash folder, Stacey. It’s not like it’s been one or two rejections. And even if it was, I still don’t have the money. I was just hoping to have a publication to put on my resume for the Sarah Lawrence fellowship. I’ll still be eligible even without it.”

“Did you know that _To Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street_ was rejected twenty-seven times? Twenty-seven, Mal! If you self-publish, you could be the next Dr. Seuss!”

“Even so, self-publishing costs a chunk of change that I don’t have.”

“Beatrix Potter self-published _Peter Rabbit_. _Anne of Green Gables_ was rejected five times.”

“Stacey…”

“ _A Wrinkle in Time_ was rejected twenty-six times _and_ it won the Newbery Medal!”

“Anastasia Elizabeth McGill! Just how much research did you do on this? And why do you care so much?”

“I care because I care about _you_ , Mal. I’ve read your stories and they’re great. They deserve to be published.”

Mallory sighed. She really, really wanted to believe what Stacey was saying, but Victoria Simmons’ harsh critique hurt more than she cared to admit. “Fine. Say I do decide to self-publish. How do you propose that I pay for it?”

“All you have to do is say yes, Mal. I started a Kickstarter campaign for you. We’ll put it out on social media and have you crowd-funded in no time. I already set up the page. If you say yes, I’ll make it live.”

Mal let silence fall between them, turning the idea over in her mind. It was a huge risk, but the glow in Stacey’s eyes finally sold her.

“Okay, I accept. On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You let me take you on a date. A real date, not just coffee.”

“Do you mean a date where you’re not sobbing all over me?”

A blush swept up Mal’s ears, remembering the softness of Stacey’s shoulders that night, the sound of her heart beating underneath her as they drifted off to sleep. “Yeah. That.”

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the statistics in this chapter are true! The author may have done a little too much research and then projected it onto Stacey.


	4. Epilogue

Six Months Later

“Hold still, Mal. If I mess up your lipstick…”

“Is that a threat? I feel threatened!”

“I was going to say, if you don’t hold still, I’m going to have to redo your lipstick, and then we’ll be late. Can’t be late for your own book launch, right? Just…” she smudged carefully at the plum-colored lip gloss, then stood back to admire her handiwork. “There. Now you look perfect. Check it out.”

Mallory hardly recognized herself in the mirror. The same white-printed black dress she’d worn to the critique hugged her frame perfectly, loose curls escaping her chignon to brush her shoulders. The warm weather meant she didn’t need the purple cardigan tonight, but the outfit still made her feel professional, and Stacey had done a magnificent job on her hair and makeup. She grinned at Stacey. “Wow.”

“It still needs something...here.” Reaching into a drawer, Stacey pulled out a tiny, silver-wrapped box. “I’ve been waiting for the right time to give this to you.”

“Stace--all the work you did on the funding was too much. Whatever this is, I can’t take it.”

“Just open it.”

Inside the box, an elegant silver pendant dangled from a delicate chain. Centered in the shape of a heart was a stylized engraving of an old-fashioned quill and inkwell. Mallory gasped. It was perfect. 

“Stacey...I don’t know what to say.”

“Turn it over.”

With shaking fingers, Mallory did as she was told. On the back of the heart were engraved the words: Dream. Write. Love. “It’s so...I...thank you so much, Stacey. I truly don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. It's kind of from all of us--Jessi came up with the design, Claudia made it in her jewelry-design class. Just wear it with pride. And remember me when you go off to Sarah Lawrence, okay?”

Wordlessly, Mal wrapped Stacey in a tight hug, leaning up to kiss her softly on the lips. The letter had come only last week, on decadent ivory stationery bearing the crest of Sarah Lawrence College:

_Dear Ms. Pike:_  
_Congratulations! We are pleased to inform you that you have been named a recipient of the Ann Patchett Fellowship for the coming school year and officially welcome you to our Master of Fine Arts program in Writing for Children…_

“Whoa, Mal. Calm down. Don’t ruin that beautiful makeup job with your tears. Come on, we’re supposed to be at the library in half an hour, and you want to be early, right?”

Tonight again the library was showing off--buffet table, silver coffee urns, the works. Mrs. Kishi led Mallory to a white-draped table stacked with copies of _The Adventures of Walter and Wilma in New York City_ , and the place was packed. Mal’s writing hand got tired, but her smile never wavered as family, friends, and former baby-sitting charges lined up for signed copies of the book. It really was just like she’d had always dreamed. 

The last person in line was a familiar figure in a black suit with horn-rimmed glasses. Mallory blinked. Maybe she was dreaming after all. 

"Ms. Simmons?"

“Congratulations, Ms. Pike. The book is wonderful.”

“Thank you. But if I may ask...how did you know?”

“I graduated from Sarah Lawrence before I got into publishing. Double major in creative writing and business. Now, I’m part of the Ann Patchett Fellowship Jury. Your submission was quite impressive. We’re really very pleased to have you.”

“But you said…”

“I’m afraid I judged you too harshly, Ms. Pike. When you’re in New York, look me up, won’t you?”

“Of course.”

“I look forward to it. Now, will you please sign this for my daughter? I’ve been telling her all about Walter and Wilma. I know she’s going to love your book.”

Mal signed the book with an extra flourish and handed it back. “Thank you for coming.”

“You’re welcome, Ms. Pike. Congratulations. I look forward to seeing you in New York.” She swept out of the room, leaving Mallory gaping.

“Well, that was unexpected,” Stacey said, coming up behind her. “Everyone else is gone. Want to get out of here and go watch a movie?”

“No joke. Yes, let’s.”

An hour later, Mallory curled into Stacey’s side, half-paying attention to _The Princess Bride_ as she drifted in and out of sleep. “Thanks, Stacey. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You’re welcome. Don’t forget me when you’re famous, okay?”

“Never. You’ll always be the hero of my story.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ann Patchett, PEN/Faulkner Award winner for _Bel Canto_ (another work that was rejected multiple times), really did graduate from Sarah Lawrence, which has one of the most prestigious, competitive writing MFA programs in America. Whether there's a fellowship with her name on it or not, the author does not know, but thanks her for the use of her name. 
> 
>  
> 
> _Thanks, Rinadoll, for the fab prompt. I had such fun playing in your sandbox! I hope you enjoyed this story!_


End file.
